


In Color

by IndilwenofMirkwood



Series: In Color [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Soulmates, brief mentions of Skye/Trip, brief mentions of Tony/Pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndilwenofMirkwood/pseuds/IndilwenofMirkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his youth, Phil Coulson used to daydream of the time he’d meet his soulmate and his dull, familiar gray world would burst into a spectrum of colorful possibilities. Years later as a grown man in his mid-thirties, he had better things to do than hope for the impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SYM, I love you and, as always, thank you so much!!

He’d heard stories of those fateful days, when a simple, insignificant touch might send his world spiraling into a spectrum of colors, when the shades of gray he saw on a regular basis would explode into hues he’d only dreamed of seeing.

His parents had found each other on a pure stroke of luck, the accidental brushing of fingers on the spine of a copy of Fitzgerald’s _This Side of Paradise_ , sending the normally unshakable, Robert Coulson reeling at the sight of the vivid shade of orange on the novel’s front cover, before he’d become utterly captivated by the golden strands of the future Julie Coulson’s hair as it shined in the dim library lighting on a rainy April afternoon. That same novel still resided within the Coulson family, F. Scott Fitzgerald having earned himself a top-self seat on their son’s bookshelf, where it remained to this day.

But not all meetings were as charming.

His friend Pepper had encountered her match in the form of one Tony Stark while enjoying a girl’s night out and after downing one too many shots of tequila, the man had gotten a bit handsy, warranting a solid slap across the face and then, according to the many witnesses at least, their mouths had dropped open simultaneously, staring stupidly at the other as they stood in the crowded bar. Apparently, the shock, mixed with the unexpected pop of color had been enough to sober Tony up and he’d apologized profusely, offering to pick up her group’s tab before he’d spent the remainder of the night rambling about nothing important to the sight of her soft smile. Later, Pepper had told him that the first color she’d noticed was the bright red hand print on the side of Tony’s face.

But Philip Coulson had no such luck.

As a teenager, even through his early adult life, he’d daydreamed about how he’d meet her, whether it would be by chance like his parents’ had been, maybe someone he’d brush against in a crowded hallway on the way to class or perhaps they’d reach for the same newspaper at the stand he frequented on the corner. He’d even harbored a secret hope that maybe she’d move into his old apartment, and with that in mind, he’d let his mail pile up in the box, in the hopes that she might forward it to him in person, but the landlord had called him with the complaint and he’d been forced to file the appropriate paperwork to get it fixed and he’d given up.

So far, she was still a mystery and, as a grown man in his mid-thirties, with a career and a mortgage, he had better things to do than hope for something that might never come. He’d heard that it wasn't unusual to never find that person, the world being as vast as it was, but he’d never thought he’d be one of them until recently, upon the realization that he was the last one in his group of friends and acquaintances whose world was still dominated by blacks and whites, the gray hues in between familiar, but unmistakably _dull_.

Of course, that’s not to say that he couldn't recognize color. His mother, with her vast knowledge of hues and pigments, had made certain he could tell the differences between the steel pewter tint of a dark blue verses the slightly lighter shade of earl gray that normally constituted a green and he was fine with that on a normal basis, but then he’d remember the happiness on his father’s face as he recalled their story, could remember Pepper’s beaming smile as she’d told him her own and he couldn't possibly tell them that he feared he’d never understand what that felt like.

He breathed deeply in the cold air, his appreciation for winter’s honesty deep-set in his mind; winter never lied, it’s true colors just as they were, the white snow as magical to him in his monochromatic color scheme as he imagined it would be to any who could see what he couldn't.

Phil sighed, clutching his jacket tighter around his body and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to ward off the early morning chill as he headed towards the College of Liberal Arts. Stepping through the doors and kicking the snow off of his shoes, he relished in the heat that permeated the old building as he worked his way towards his first class, pushing his less-than-happy thoughts away in the process.

His students had already arrived, the majority of them pulling out the essays on the nature of Nazi rule he’d assigned two weeks previous. They spoke to each other quietly and he listened to the general hum of conversation as he erased the marker board, which he completed quickly enough before turning to them to officially begin class.

“Alright guys, pass your essay to the person in front of you and please, for the sake of my sanity and your grade, make sure your names are on the top.”

He collected all of the papers before turning to the projector, pulling on the cord to bring the blank, white screen down before flicking off the lights.

“Is this an episode of Captain America?”

Phil couldn’t bite back the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him at his student’s inquiry, his love for the star-spangled super hero a never ending source of amusement for his classes and this particular group of students was probably his favorite, as he’d had the majority of them the previous semester.

“No, but that would probably be a lot more fun than the video you’re getting,” he smirked, hitting play on the remote and watching as the thirty minute clip on _America Between the Wars_ began as he settled on the corner of his desk. Today’s class was the last of his before the student’s left for spring break and he was feeling generous; after all, a video was better than an assignment in his book.

The playback was nearly over when he caught movement outside of his closed classroom door, the feminine silhouette easily recognizable through the pane of glass as she unlocked her office.

 _Melinda_.

Melinda May was relatively new to the Boston area and he’d taken an instant liking to her from the moment they’d been hastily introduced, her tiny, gloved hand fitting into his much larger one almost perfectly so, as she’d smiled at him in greeting, and he’d been oddly fascinated ever since. Melinda was intriguing, her guarded smile somewhat mischievous and completely unable to hide the playful fire within her dark eyes. There was a quiet strength about her that he found thoroughly attractive and he could easily admit, even in his ever-present grayscale, that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever encountered.

He guessed that she’d just arrived for the day, her first class not scheduled to begin for a few hours yet, but she usually arrived early to prepare for the day, a thermos full of tea gripped tightly in her hand and a black leather bag slung over her shoulder.

Over the past few months, he’d learned bits and pieces about the Comparative Literature professor, though it hadn’t been nearly as much as he’d wanted to, as most of their interactions were between lectures as they passed in the hall or quiet goodbyes as she left for the night. According to Professor Hill who taught Military History upstairs, Melinda had originally been assigned an office within the English Department, but with the increasing number of students enrolling, her class’ capacity had exceeded the number of seats and so they’d relocated her to the Liberal Arts building instead, to a bigger classroom and an office three doors down from where he was currently sitting.

Not that he’d ever complain.

A throat clearing somewhere next to him brought him out of his thoughts as his head snapped towards the sound involuntarily and, somehow, he realized, he’d missed the end of the video, the room now silent as his students watched him curiously.

“Professor?” asked Antoine Triplett, “You alright?”

Phil nodded before standing, “I’m sorry. I guess I was just distracted.”

 _’That’s the understatement of the year,’_ Phil thought wryly.

“You should ask her out.”

His eyes widened, a sudden heat creeping up the back of his neck as he stared at his student, who was smiling as if he’d just solved all of his professor’s problems.

“What did you say?” he asked, one hand coming up to run through his hair nervously.

“Professor May,” Triplett clarified, his grin bright in mirth. “You’d look good together.”

Another one of his student’s, Skye Johnson spoke up next, “She’s got that classy, sophisticated look about her and you’ve got that dorky sort of adorableness that women like her love.”

The rest of his students’, to his surprise, murmured their agreement and he couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. “This is hardly the thing we should be talking about during class time,” he replied quickly, standing to retract the screen, hoping they’d drop this particular line of inquiry, but he wasn’t so lucky.

“You’ve been staring at her door for the better part of half an hour. Did you even realize she’d shut it?”

The disgruntled look on his face was apparently enough of a confirmation for his students, particularly Skye, whose calculating eyes were still fixed on him, but thankfully the bell rang and his classes’ laughter was drowned out by shuffling of feet and book-bags as they made to leave, but he wasn’t surprised when Triplett stayed behind, Skye standing beside him closely, as they’d been living in a world of rainbows since they’d met freshmen year.

“What if she’s your match?”

But Phil was already shaking his head, “I shook her hand and there’s no color to be found. Everything is still the same bland and familiar gray.”

“So what? Are you gonna let that stop you?”

Trip must have noticed his confusion, for he continued before Phil could utter a single syllable.

“Finding your soul-mate isn’t a guarantee, but you shouldn’t let the possibility of one stop you from being happy.”

Phil frowned, “That’s a rather radical point of view. What happens if she agrees and I find my match somewhere down the road.”

“My grandparents didn’t see it as a problem. It doesn’t mean that you love her any less,” he confided with a grin, eyes darting across the hall to the still closed door. “Besides, gray isn’t so bad. Gray is hot.”

Skye smacked him lightly on the shoulder and Phil chuckled lightly at the sight before sighing, “She’s beautiful.”

“So tell her,” Tripp replied with a shrug, offering his hand up for a fist bump which Phil returned with an amused, but thoroughly dumbfounded expression, and with that, his students walked away and out the door, leaving him wondering at what the hell had just happened.

* * *

 

Phil arrived earlier than usual the next morning, Melinda’s Friday class still in session by the time he settled behind his desk. He listened closely as she assigned a report on the supernatural in traditional Chinese fiction, the collective groan from her students making him grin. From what he could tell, she held a firm hand over her classes, which was admirable for a woman who appeared so delicate, but he had a feeling that was just a facade she used.

_“Anything inhuman or otherworldly is fair game, so long as it fits within my parameters. It’s due when you return from Spring Break and I expect at least fifteen hundred words…”_

Another round of displeasure was swift to follow her statement, but he heard nothing else other the usual shuffling of feet as the classroom door opened and her students shuffled out. Melinda followed minutes later, papers held tightly in her arms and upon realizing that he was in his office, she stopped briefly, offering him a small smile and a dip of the head in greeting before she retreated to her own office down the hall.

Seconds later, a smirking Skye passed his doorway with a knowing look and Phil sank back into this chair with a groan, rubbing at his eyes tiredly between sips of coffee as he continued to grade his student’s papers.

He’d been at it for a few hours when movement just outside his door caught his attention. Melinda was walking down the hall, her arms filled with papers and files that were threatening to burst free any second and before he’d realized it, he was up and out his door, following her down the hall.

Phil watched as a report toppled from the top, her muffled curse as he approached causing him to chuckle. Melinda’s eyes flicked to his as he bent to retrieve the scattered papers, pushing them back into the folder as best he could before standing up to face her, taking in her winter clothing as she stood in the hall.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as he placed the file back on top of her precarious stack.

“Here, let me help you.”

“Oh no, Professor Coulson, please, it’s freezing outside and it’s such a long walk to my car. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Phil, please,” he corrected gently, “And I’m more than happy to help. Just let me grab my jacket.”

She nodded and he retreated to his office, quickly bundling up in a few layers before returning to her side. “Shall we?”

Melinda grinned softly at him as he pulled more than half the stack from the top and he smiled as she rolled her eyes. They walked side by side towards the exits and once he’d used his back to open the door for her, they descended the stairs, paying careful attention to the ice coating the cobblestones as they walked.

“They haven’t found you another parking spot? A closer one?”

She glanced sideways at him, a small smile ghosting across her lips. “No, though I see that you’ve been speaking to Professor Hill about me.”

His mouth opened, ready to apologize, to explain, but she was smirking at his floundering expression.

 _'She's teasing me,'_ he thought with a tad bit of wonder.

“Only good things, I swear,” he admitted with a smile of his own, watching as she dipped her head down demurely and he got the distinct impression that she was blushing.

Melinda cleared her throat, carefully stepping around a frozen puddle as she answered. “Normally, I don’t mind the walk, but I think I underestimated the amount of reports I had to finish.”

“This is nothing really. I’m terrible at marking papers and I have a truly terrible habit of putting it off until the last minute,” he chuckled nervously, but he relished in the small laugh that he managed to draw out of her.

He was surprised at the silence that lapsed over them as they walked, the quiet strangely comfortable despite how little he knew about her, but before he could ask any of the questions swirling through his mind, she pointed to her car and as they traversed the slick parking lot, she thanked him again, her sincerity sending a jolt of warmth through him.

He wanted to ask her out, to lunch or dinner and a movie, but the words were stuck in his throat. The idea left him quickly, however when she turned slightly, her foot slipping on the patch of ice beneath her, her body pitching backwards and instinctively, the files slipped from his arms as his hands reached out to steady her, but her momentum was too much and in a desperate attempt to keep them both upright, he pushed forward, sending them colliding with her SUV, his body flush against hers and his heart hammering painfully in his chest as papers fell around them.

Immediately he was assaulted by the slightly flowery scent of her hair, by the feeling of her warm breath tickling his ear, and by the way her hands were gripping his sides in support, but it was the heat of her skin as their cheeks rested against one another that had him sighing in contentment.

He pulled away slowly only to notice that her eyes had slipped closed somewhere in their unexpected embrace, her lips parted slightly as she panted, struggling to catch her breath.

“Are you alri—”

He stopped suddenly, his question trailing off into stunned silence, though at first he couldn’t say why, the gray of her cheeks, the same shade of his mother’s wild roses, melting from a light gray to a soft pink under the heat of her blush, his eyes staring openly as breathtaking _color_ spread onto her face.

His world didn’t explode into a multitude of pigments like he’d been told, it didn’t happen in the blink of an eye like he’d dreamed of as a child. Instead, it seeped slowly into his vision, the light pink only growing brighter the longer he stared. He was utterly fixated as it spread across the apples of her cheeks, his hands coming up to caress them tenderly, his fingers ghosting across her skin lightly as he sucked in a deep breath.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, his head shaking slightly back and forth in confusion as he watched her face and somewhere during their exchange, her eyes had opened. “I-I don’t…I’ve touched your hand,” he repeated to himself, his mind scrambling to come up with an explanation. His hand grasped hers tightly, realization dawning on him at the sight of her black leather gloves and hurriedly, he pulled the fabric from her fingers, lifting her hand up to his face and he watched as the unmarred polish on her nails changed from heather gray to a rich, fiery red as his emotions threatened to choke him.

“Your eyes,” she breathed, her voice filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite decipher in his sudden confusion, but his eyes snapped to hers as one of her hands left his side, her index finger tracing a path along his jaw, her thumb skimming across the skin just under his eyes to wipe away the tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. “They’re so… _blue_.”

Phil couldn’t help but lean into her touch before his own hand came up to lace their fingers together, placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles as Melinda watched him closely, her own eyes full, making the brown appear like the color of melted chocolate.

“Have dinner with me,” he blurted suddenly, his need to secure something tangible between them consuming him completely, but his emotions were raw, his heart burning with the knowledge that he’d finally found her. “Have dinner with me every night for the rest of my life.”

Phil watched as tears began to cascade down her cheeks, but she was laughing—a real, full bodied laugh as her hand left his face to cover her mouth, smiling through her tears.

And if she’d been beautiful in gray, she was utterly _bewitching_ in color.

“I’d almost given up on you, you know,” she confided quietly, her breath leaving her in a fine mist as she spoke.

His heart constricted at her words, his pulse leaping at the promise veiled within as his forehead came to rest on hers.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice tender as he wiped away her tears like she’d done him moments before, cupping her face as his eyes fixed on the soft, red skin of her lips, his thumb swiping gently over her bottom lip, his sudden desire to kiss her nearly overwhelming him. “May I?”

Melinda nodded, that peculiar light he’d noticed on their first meeting swirling in her eyes and he knew that look would spell trouble for him in the future, but he didn’t care; he suddenly had so many things to look forward to.

Phil leaned forward slowly, his lips ghosting over hers tentatively, allowing her to control the pace as she stood on her toes, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as one of his own settled around her waist, his other tangling in her dark hair.

There was a world full of color around him now, thanks to the woman in his arms, that he’d always wanted to see, that he’d looked forward to with the gleeful excitement of the child he’d once been, and yet, suddenly, he was in no hurry, completely content to lose himself in the feel of her lips, in the feel of her body pressed against his as they kissed. It took everything in him just to breathe as his tongue met hers, their kiss deepening as the minutes ticked by slowly and somewhere between his nibbling on her lip and her throaty whine, he’d sagged against her, his body moving forward of its own accord to pin her against her vehicle once more, his hands holding her to him as she clutched the lapels of his jacket tightly.

He broke away for air soon after, the both of them panting slightly as their hearts slowed, her hands resting over his chest as their eyes drifted open and a small smile gracing her lips as she stared at him.

“What now?” he asked softly, watching as her hands came up to play with the silk of his tie. “What do we do now?”

Her smile turned into a full blown smirk at his question. “I believe you said something about dinner.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Color: Part 2. Melinda May’s POV.
> 
> It wasn’t my intention to continue this story, but a couple people have suggested things they’ve wanted to see. I’m gonna call this Part 2, as it isn’t really a new chapter, but another side of the spectrum. I’ve set up this story in a way that it can be expanded on should I choose to do so or get dealt a good prompt from someone, so let me know your thoughts!
> 
> The idea for this part was in a comment on AO3, from Meredithchandler73, so I hope I’ve done it justice. =)
> 
> sym-posts, I <3 U.

It was insane to think that a new city would have change anything, that the general mill of people in Boston would be any different than those in Philadelphia had been. It was just another city, a different skyline littered with the same old buildings, thousands of people that were different, yet the same, and all of them still shrouded in gray.

Labeling it as disappointing was an understatement, but Melinda May was no stranger to disappointment.

As a young girl, after discovering exactly what it meant to see color, she’d had a minor obsession with touching people: a brush against the hand or the arm, fingers ghosting against one another while passing a pencil, waiting for hues of the calm, comforting blue and the bright, happy yellow she’d been promised to splash into her vision, waiting for that one, special person to spark something within her. Each time she’d brushed hands with someone, she would stare, squinting at the sky or at the grass covering the ground, begging it to change and still, after the hundreds of people she’d met, her match eluded her, the sinking feeling that followed each new introduction leaving her wishing for the blissful days of ignorance, when nostalgia had been so much better than reality.

Because in her experience, a soul-mate guaranteed nothing.

She tried not to think about her match and what he might be doing, whether or not he was looking for her, or if he’d given up as much as she had. After all, she was the daughter of a man who’d abandoned his soul-mate, her mother’s world of color obviously lacking in some way or another, but Melinda had always had a hunch that it went much deeper than that. The last time she’d seen her father, at barely more than twelve years old, he’d had a strange expression in his eyes, one that she couldn’t quite name with so few years of experience, but as an adult, it was all too clear, the memory of the anger and regret swimming in his dark eyes never failing to send her heart plummeting to the floor, that old adage swirling in her mind like a mantra…

_Poisoned tree, poisoned fruit._

She’d stopped touching people, shying away from human contact, her desire to find her soul-mate now dwarfed by the fear of discovering him, of the vulnerability that came with it and of the crippling, painful thoughts that she’d never be enough for the poor man who was destined to be with her.

Of course, there were those that told her otherwise, romantic vignettes of people meeting in simple, but unexpected ways, their worlds soaked in different palettes, their lives bursting with happiness, and yet her own life remained gray and her mother’s just the same despite the color, because what good were pinks and greens and yellows, if the person who’d caused them would leave? If the colors and pigments she’d dreamed of as a child were no better than the familiar, everyday shades of black and white?

Shaking her head, she stopped in the hallway, the muffled, _"is this an episode of Captain America?"_ catching her ears, the following deep-bellied laugh making her grin softly as she continued towards her office.

She’d heard stories of the kindhearted Professor Coulson, his controlled, but gentle demeanor making him a favorite among the students and his obsession with the patriotic superhero was always a frequent fixture within the office gossip. He was adorable in a slightly bashful, exuberant way, his dorky nature only lending to his relaxed, loveable appeal and it didn’t hurt that he looked damn good in a suit…

Unlocking her door and slipping inside, she shrugged off her heavy coat and hung up her scarf, before pulling at her gloves, the black leather sending her mind back to the time she’d touched his hand, the worn fabric separating his flesh from hers, and as warm as her hand had been wrapped up in his own, she’d been grateful for the barrier, however unintentional it had been. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him and she was very aware that he was interested in her, but she wasn’t ready to face whatever answer that skin on skin contact with him would bring, if his lingering stares meant _nothing_ or if they meant _everything_. Melinda wasn’t exactly sure of which outcome she was more afraid of, but like most things in life, she suspected that finding out was only a matter of time.

Melinda sank into her desk chair heavily as she pondered the man across the hall, cursing the concept of soul-mates with as much hatred as she could muster so early in the morning. Without destiny hanging over her shoulders every minute of every waking day, she could walk across that hall right now and ask him to dinner, but the moment she touched his skin and her world remained gray, it wouldn’t matter.

Still, she’d daydreamed about Phil, about his kind eyes that could either be blue or gray or green; she never could tell as they changed so often, his irises appearing stormy when conflicted or as bright a gray as the sky appeared when accompanied by a smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners in his happiness. They spoke little, but she had this ridiculous little idea that he would do most of the talking if they ever got past pleasantries and his quiet, but trivial questions in the halls. His voice was soothing, though, so she couldn’t imagine that she’d ever mind his asinine ramblings.

_'Even if they are about Steve Rogers,'_ she thought with a grin.

Refocusing on her current task of planning Friday’s lesson, she sipped at her tea slowly, oblivious to the world around her as the hours ticked by. It was late, nearly dark, when she heard the door to his office open in the silent hallway, the click of his lock barely audible behind her closed door. She shook away the impulse to stop him, to ask if he’d prefer Italian or Chinese food, her mental image of the two of them fading away at the twinge of fear in her stomach.

She heard his footsteps as he approached her office, his silhouette warped by the frosted pane of glass and she panicked slightly when he stopped, his sigh loud enough for her to make out even behind the polished oak of her door, but a wave of relief washed over her as his shadow began moving once again, the large, heavy metal door that served as the main entrance point, slamming shut behind him and making her jump in her seat.

* * *

 

"Anything inhuman or otherworldly is fair game, so long as it fits within my parameters. It’s due when you return from Spring Break and I expect at least fifteen hundred words…"

Melinda watched her students as she assigned a paper on Topic 6, the deadline for the essay over the supernatural in traditional Chinese fiction making her entire class groan, but it was her first semester teaching at the Boston college and she’d been damned if she’d appear as a pushover; besides, the topic was easy and the paper relatively short, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as their little over-dramatic hearts believed it to be.

But as hard as they’d taken the prospect of homework over break, Melinda frowned at the dark-haired girl named Skye sitting near the window, the smile on her face so uncharacteristic in the sea of frowns and disgruntled sighs that made up the majority of her classmates. The girl was grinning at her for some unknown reason and Melinda was tempted to ask, but before she could, the clock struck noon and her class filtered out slowly as she began to pick up her belongings. Gathering everything, she left with her students, but as she turned the corner, she stopped, her gaze fixed at the sight of Phil behind his desk, head bent low to review a student’s handiwork. He didn’t look up immediately, but at the evident surprise in his eyes when he did, her greeting died in her throat and so she merely dipped her head, offering him a small smile in response to his completely flummoxed look as she moved on.

Returning to her office, Melinda sought out the solace the familiar, private place offered her as she settled in to look over her students’ latest homework assignments, but a few hours later and no real progress made, she called it a night, bundling up in her overcoat and gathering the still-unfinished essays plus everything she’d need for the week long break.

She huffed in displeasure as the pile of folders and reports on her desk grew significantly, it’s height reaching from her waist to her neck, the stack just a few inches short of her chin. Somehow, despite her arms being full, she managed to cut off the lights and lock her door, but she suspected that had more to do with her Tai Chi training coupled with her natural balance and flexibility rather than any luck. Luck eluded her.

Cautiously, she made her way down the hall, but she hadn’t gotten far before the first file from the top had fallen and she groaned in frustration unconsciously, her quiet expletive drawing an amused chuckle from her sudden audience. Turning slightly, her eyes immediately went to his as he bent to pick up her errant paperwork.

Phil looked handsomely disheveled with his sleeves rolled up at the elbow, his tie hanging in a loose knot around his shoulders and hair mussed from running his fingers through it, she guessed. She waited patiently, as he gathered the scattered papers carefully, tucking them back in their bindings as best he could.

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully as he set the file back on top, his white shirt pulling over the well-defined muscles on his arms in a way that she hadn’t quite expected.

"Here, let me help you."

Immediately, her refusal was on her lips, some nonsense about the weather and the distance to her car slipping out, two things perfectly designed to keep a lesser person inside, but Professor Coulson was a stubborn one.

"Phil, please," he suggested with a small smirk in her direction. "And I’m more than happy to help. Just let me grab my jacket."

_Phil._

She simply nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment, watching as he returned to his office to grab his coat before returning to her side. “Shall we?”

She hadn’t realized just how heavy her workload had been until her shoulders slumped in relief, a tiny sigh leaving her unconsciously when he pulled more than half the stack off the top, her arms aching from where the corners had bitten into her skin. He smiled at her in response and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him in amusement.

She walked to his left as they exited the building, watching silently as Phil nudged the heavy wooden door open with his shoulder, allowing her to pass through first and uninhibited.

_'Well, it appears chivalry isn't dead,'_ Melinda thought with a smirk as she descended the stairs, _'It suits him.'_

"They haven’t found you another parking spot? A closer one?"

Her head tilted towards him in thought as he spoke, her lips curving slightly as he watched her expectantly. There was only one person she’d told about the fiasco she’d been treated to upon her arrival a few months before, that she’d been relocated due to over-enrollment and in all the general confusion, they’d forgotten to assign her a new space. The relocation, in itself, wasn’t so terrible, as she hadn’t been very fond of the literature building, it’s old walls lacking the warmth and comfort that the Liberal Arts college exuded with ease.

"No, though I see that you’ve been speaking to Professor Hill about me."

His eyes widened in the realization that he’d been caught gossiping, his expression guilty as he tried desperately to say something, though the right words clearly wouldn’t come to him. So, she smirked at him playfully, hoping that he’d understand that no harm had been done and she watched as his features morphed from slightly panicked to wonder at her teasing.

"Only good things, I swear."

Heat rose to her cheeks unbidden at his evident compliment, her eyes glancing down to the ground and then away as he smiled at her tenderly. She could feel his eyes on her and she cursed her wildly thumping heart from betraying her so easily.

"Normally," she began, clearing her throat uncomfortably as she navigated around the many frozen puddles at her feet. "I don’t mind the walk, but I think I underestimated the amount of reports I had to finish."

_'That's a huge understatement,'_ she admitted, frowning slightly at the files still in her hands.

"This is nothing really. I’m terrible at marking papers and I have a truly terrible habit of putting it off until the last minute."

Melinda couldn’t help the chuckle at the mental image he provided, a befuddled Phil sitting around piles of paperwork in his office, scratching the back of his neck in irritation as he eyed the massive amounts of essays and reports littered about.

They lapsed into silence easily enough, the need to speak with every step growing weaker as they advanced towards her car. She was oddly relaxed despite the cold seeping into her bones, his presence somehow familiar to her in a way that warred directly with the nervousness creeping up her spine, but soon enough, her car came into view and she shook the uneasiness off, knowing, that soon, she’d be ensconced in the relative safety of her car and away from the soft look in his eyes.

She tiptoed around puddle after puddle inlaid in the cracked cement as she neared her car and he followed obediently, performing the same careful dance across the pavement as she thanked him, but she knew the moment she turned, the precise second her foot pivoted on the sheet of unseen black ice, that she was doomed. For in that split second, his eyes widened once again, the carefully laden papers in his hands falling without conscious thought as her body fell backwards. She braced herself for the collision against pavement that never came, her eyes slipping closed unconsciously, her body colliding forcefully with the surprisingly muscled abdomen of her fellow professor instead of the cement she’d expected. His hands circled around her waist protectively as they continued to fall, but he caught her quickly, and as he surged forward it was his arms that took the combined weight of the impact as they crashed into the side of her car.

She could easily admit that she was dazed, the unexpected fear of falling leaving her breathless and unable to focus over the pounding in her head, but Melinda slowly became aware of the harsh breathing in her ear, the delightfully musky, earthy scent of his cologne, and the unmistakeable feeling of his stubble tickling her cheek.

And he was so… _warm_.

As if he was assured that she’d be able to stand on her own, she could feel him pull away slowly, but still, her eyes remained shut in defeat.

They’d touched.

And she didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes when he opened them to find that she was just another woman, that his world was still gray and that she wasn’t what he wanted.

"Are you alri-"

And there it was, his concern trailing off into what she could only guess was displeasure, but she could feel his gaze on her as blood rushed to her face and she cursed herself again for being so easily affected.

"I don’t understand," he whispered and she frowned at the confusion clouding his tone. Her curiosity got the better of her and so she opened her eyes slowly, only to have the breath knocked from her lungs at the deliriously beautiful sight of color. "I-I don’t…I’ve touched your hand."

Melinda expected frustration or even disapproval, but the bewildered wonder in his voice made her gasp and if that hadn’t been enough, than the sheer hope swimming through his irises would have brought her to her knees. She paid no attention as he drew her hand up to his eye-level, his fingers pulling at her gloves frantically in search of confirmation that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, but she was just as lost as his shaky intake of breath revealed him to be.

"Your eyes," she breathed in quiet shock, watching as the muted gray swirled with color, like ink in water through his irises. "They’re so... _blue._ ”

The color itself was so new and yet it’s name was insufficient for the pigment within his eyes. It was so expressive, its intensity so unexpected that the four letters simply weren’t enough to describe them. They were churning with emotion, like waves crashing against weather-worn rocks, the flecks of indigo and cerulean glinting brilliantly as his eyes filled with tears and affection. All at once, they were as blue as the sky above his head, but brighter still and she could practically feel the heat of the sun within them as it burned a path up her spine and warmed her through.

She’d expected to be afraid, her vulnerability something she’d dreaded facing ever since her father had left, but she had this sneaking suspicion that this man, Professor Philip Coulson of Boston, was going to be the end of her.

And suddenly, she welcomed it.

Her hand was shaky as she lifted it to wipe away his single tear, her fingers lingering and tenderly touching the soft skin below his eyes. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be fearful of as he leaned into her touch, his own hand lacing their fingers together before he placed a lingering kiss on the skin of her knuckles as her own eyes filled with tears and she wondered for the millionth time, how anyone could give this up.

"Have dinner with me."

The words had come out fast and hurried, as if he was panicking, and she could easily see that he was as his hand tightened around her own, almost painfully so, his eyes pleading with her to accept and she immediately knew, with complete certainty, that he was _never going to let her go_.

And she basked in the feeling of being _wanted_.

"Have dinner with me every night for the rest of my life," he whispered ardently, his voice wavering with repressed emotion.

She was helpless to stop the laugh that bubbled up her throat or the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

"I’d almost given up on you, you know," she confessed softly. And she still had in a way, she realized, her idea of a soul-mate being nothing more than an experience to be loathed, had been unfair to him and though she hadn’t actively sought to keep him away, she’d hindered this and her regret was heavy and suffocating.

She could see his turmoil in the clear blue of his eyes as his forehead came down to rest against hers, his breath warm on her lips as he carefully wiped away the evidence of her sticky tears.

"You’re beautiful," he breathed, his voice imbued with an aching tenderness that sent her stomach fluttering at the sound of his sincere affection and she watched as his eyes flickered down from her eyes to her mouth, his unspoken wish evident as his thumb ran across her bottom lip lightly and her breath hitched in response. "May I?"

And she was surprised at just how much she wanted it. Surprised at how suddenly her thoughts had switched from sheer terror at simply the prospect of finding her soul-mate, to complete acceptance in the face of his kind eyes and warm, gentle hands. Her fear was gone, erased from her mind as he looked at her, her heart thumping wildly within the confines of her chest as her body practically hummed with the excitement she’d been so convinced she’d lost.

Her nod was permission enough and she licked her lips in anticipation as Phil leaned closer, their lips barely touching at first and she got the distinct impression that he was allowing her time to adjust to this new colorful world of his, but she didn’t need to. She’d spent her whole life adjusting to how cruel the world could be, compensating for the pain it had caused her and those closest to her and somewhere in the middle she’d lost sight of its potential, of how good it felt to be _alive_.

Phil’s lips were soft, warm even, and it was easy to lose herself in the feel of his chest against hers, in the scent of his skin, and in the sensation of his tongue against her own as they embraced. He was all-consuming as they kissed and she clutched at the lapels of his jacket, trying desperately to ground herself while keeping him close as the hand that had been tangled in her hair came to rest on the back of her neck and she keened, a loud, high-pitched whine leaving her as goosebumps rose on her flesh at the sensation, and at his answering moan, his body shifted forward until her back rested against the cool metal of her car.

The kiss slowed before he broke away panting, his breath coming in harsh gasps like her own, but he didn’t pull away and for that, she was grateful, giddy almost, as they leaned against one another as she trailed her hands up his chest before stopping to tangle them in his tie. Even with flushed cheeks and wild eyes, the blue now looking borderline electric as she stared at him, she could wholeheartedly admit once again, that she’d never met a man who could pull off a business suit as well as him.

He was watching closely as her fingers trailed down the silk, her fingers toying idly with the knot as she straightened it back to its original position and her heart swelled with the intimacy of it.

"What now?" he inquired softly, his voice low and unsure as he pondered their next step. "What do we do now?"

Melinda didn’t know, couldn’t guess at what two people who’d just found their better halves were supposed to do after the initial pop of color. She supposed that the most logical activity, for most, would be to see the city in all its new-found glory, but for her, that seemed so… _boring_ , when one considered the man before her. After all, they had a whole week to themselves, a whole week to discover each other before responsibility would settle back in and she’d be damned if she’d spend it sight-seeing.

"I believe you said something about dinner," she reminded him with a smirk.

Dinner was a good place to start.

And Boston could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected, as May is so much harder to write than Coulson, but I hope it’s okay. Part 3, might even take me a bit longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you loved reading this as much as I loved writing it and, please, reviews are much appreciated.


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